


Money Shot

by cats_mother (phoebesmum)



Category: Sports Night
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Porn Battle, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-28
Updated: 2009-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-03 22:21:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoebesmum/pseuds/cats_mother
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When pornstar!Casey meets teenage!junkie!runaway!hooker!Dan, it's love at first sight. Or at least it's certainly ... <i>something</i> at first sight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Money Shot

**Author's Note:**

> Written January 2007 for Oxoniensis's porn battle, prompt: 'mojo'. Part of a very long, complex and marvellously melodramatic not to say clichéd story that, other than this, exists only in my head.

He stands, shivering, at the edge of the big, cluttered room, dazed. Five minutes ago he was working his usual corner. Then the girl in the hotpants had grabbed his wrist, said, "You, come with me," and dragged him in here. If he'd been thinking clearly, he would've raised a protest – he'll do women if they ask him, money's money after all, but he likes to have some idea what he's getting into first. He's not suicidal – not yet – and the life he lives is full of risks.

But he hasn't eaten in two days, hasn't had a fix since yesterday, had noplace to sleep last night and spent it in an alleyway, fighting off rats. He wasn't thinking clearly. He wasn't thinking at _all_, and he'd probably have smiled nicely and walked straight into Hell for the promise – not even a promise, just the offchance – of a good meal.

He's inside an old warehouse, all high, bare brick walls, metal staircases and walkways. It's been divided off into compartments using high canvas screens. There are an awful lot of bright lights. And, considering that it's freezing in here, no-one seems to be wearing very much.

Apart from the grey-haired man who's coming over to talk to him now; he's decently covered (thank god!) in khaki pants and a flannel shirt. He looks Dan over, scowling, then turns back to hotpants-girl. "This all you could find, Natalie?"

Hotpants-girl shrugs apologetically. "There wasn't much out there. He was the prettiest." The old guy looks at her in disbelief, and she flusters, "Well, he _could_ be, if we cleaned him up a bit …"

_I'm standing right here!_ Dan wants to tell them, but he's scared that if he makes a sound they'll throw him back out on the streets. He keeps his mouth shut.

"Huh," the old man says. He doesn't sound convinced. "I don't know. You know how particular Casey is."

Natalie lets out a sigh and rolls her eyes. "Do I ever! But we don't have much time, and – "

"Yeah, yeah." The old man looks over his shoulder, and beckons. A small, hard-faced blonde woman appears out of nowhere. She's dressed in skintight leather pants and crop top, an array of cameras slung around her shoulders. She's ridiculously thin; you can count every one of her ribs (although Dan knows that, right at this moment, you could say the same for him), and the weight of the cameras tilts her slightly sideways so that she has to stand with one leg bent to compensate. He brightens a little. No-one gets that skinny by accident. It's a fair bet she has speed, at the very least, tucked away in her purse. If he gets lucky, he'll be able to swipe a couple tabs while she's distracted.

She glares at Dan as if she can hear what he's thinking, and says, "This the new fluffer for Casey?"

"Potentially," the old man says. "Any thoughts?"

She shrugs. "Worth a try. If he's gonna be a prima donna, I guess we have to humour him. And he likes them dark." She tilts her head back to look Dan in the face, puts her hand against his cheek; her touch is surprisingly gentle. He doesn't know what she sees in his eyes, but when she releases him, her voice is softer. "He'll do, for now. What's your name?" she asks. That's the first time any of them has acknowledged him as human, and Dan revises his estimate of her, though not his designs on the contents of her purse."

"Dan," he says, unthinkingly. It's his real name, and he stutters and fumbles for something to go with it. "Dan – um, Rydell." It's the leather pants that do it; they remind him of _Grease_.

The blonde woman laughs. "I'm Dana!" She nods toward the man. "This is Isaac Jaffee. He owns the studio. You've met Natalie. She's my right-hand girl." She grins. "I'll leave it to you to guess what she does with her right hand."

"Da-_na!_" Natalie objects.

"So, Danny," Dana goes on, "what we do here is, we make movies."

He nods. He's not stupid; he'd figured that much. "Porno," he says, hoping he sounds adult and knowledgeable.

"_Adult entertainment_," the other three say, as one, then crack up. Dana waves a hand at Natalie, who takes Dan by the wrist again, and leads him away.

"You know what a fluffer is?" she asks, and doesn't wait for a reply. "See, we make a lot of films here – straight, gay, all sorts in between. And the thing about men is – " she glances slyly back at him, "sometimes they need a helping hand before they're ready for their close-up. Which, by the way, is not on their face …"

Dan says, "Uh-huh," noncommittally. He gets the picture. They just want him to get some guy up, but not get him off. That's fine. He can do that in his – well, maybe not in his sleep, but close. All he cares about now is, how much?

Dan's always been good at math. (Sam was better. But he doesn't think about Sam.) Now he uses that skill in different ways: the equation goes [X blowjobs + Y handjobs] = [X food + Y shelter + Z hits]. He's not sure how or where this – whatever it is – is going to fit in. Right at this moment, he doesn't care. They're walking past a trestle table spread with snack food – chips, fruit, pastries, and his eyes fix on it longingly. But Natalie keeps on moving.

_Work first_, he thinks, but his stomach growls. He coughs, embarrassed. "Um?" he says. "Uh – Natalie – do you think I could have some water?"

She stops walking, turns around and looks up at him. Like Dana, her face softens. "Sure," she says, and her voice is suddenly gentle. "Sure, sweetie." She loops around to the table, scoops up a bottle of water and, oh, god bless her, an _apple_, and brings them back to him. "We'll get you some proper food in a bit," she tells him, watching him bite down, his eyes closing in near-rapture. "There's no time now, we're on a tight schedule, but – "

The apple's vanished, stalk and core and all. Dan washes it down with half the water in one long swig, and squares his shoulders. He's ready.

They round the corner of one of the canvas screens, where two men are sitting on folding chairs. They're both wrapped in towelling robes, long, bare legs stretched out in front of them, feet stuffed into flipflops. One of them's black, square-set, his hair woven into cornrows, surprisingly intelligent-looking for a porn actor. He glances up, flashes a smile and winks at Natalie, who grins at him, perches on the arm of his chair, casually flicks his robe aside and closes familiar fingers around his cock. "This one's mine!" she says, sounding distinctly smug. "Isn't that right, Dave?"

Dave just smiles indulgently and spreads his legs a little wider to allow her easier access. Dan blinks, but – hey. Whatever. Gay men act straight for the regular cinema all the time, why shouldn't straight men act gay for pornos? Though you'd think there'd be enough gay guys to go round.

That leaves the other man for him. Great. The guy hasn't even bothered to look up. He's got his nose buried in a book – he's reading Camus, _L'Étranger_, in the original French text (_Pretentious?_ thinks Dan, _Moi?!_) – absorbed. Dan takes a moment to stand back and take stock.

He's seen his fair share of porn – he and Sam used to raid their dad's video stash all the time – but his dad didn't go in for the gay stuff. This is all new to him. If he'd been asked, he'd've thought that a gay porn star would be conventionally handsome, ripped and toned, buffed abs and a flat six-pack stomach, chiselled features and perfect hair. This guy – Casey? – well: he's not _bad_, but … he's not what Dan would've expected. He's incredibly tall, for one thing, and, though he's moderately well built, that makes him look lanky and stringy. He's handsome enough, though it's hard to tell behind the heavy, black-rimmed glasses he's wearing. He has a sort of wholesome Midwestern farmboy appeal. Hey, there's probably demand for that; Dan can picture him in a pair of chaps and a big hat, and nothing else. A little too easily, actually; he feels his own cock stir, and shifts uneasily. He's not here for his own enjoyment. He has a job to do.

He hesitates, unsure of the etiquette here. Does he introduce himself? The men he services for a living don't, as a rule, talk at all, but this is different. Natalie, still stroking Dave with one hand, is chattering away brightly as she works, and Dave, head tipped back, eyes squeezed closed in evident pleasure, is answering her, though his voice is gradually growing rough and uneven. Maybe –

"Can we just get on with this, please?"

Under other circumstances, Casey would have a pleasant voice, deep and warm, but at the moment he sounds snappy and irascible. Dan starts, and blurts out a quick, "I'm sorry!" before he drops to his knees and opens Casey's robe. He blinks, impressed. Casey may be tall and thin, but his penis is rather the opposite. Involuntarily, Dan licks his lips. Not all of his tricks have been voluntary or enjoyable, and there have been days when he thinks he never wants to see another dick again – his own included – but, when it comes down to it, this is what he does. This is what he was born for.

He reaches out, and touches the tip for the first time, just a light touch, just a finger. He glances up as he slides the finger slowly along the shaft, up to the scrotum, and scissors two fingers against the sac, up and under and around. "Tell me what you want," he says softly. It's his whore-voice, throaty and seductive, the one he uses with the older men, the ones that take him to good hotel rooms and throw him down on soft, luxurious beds, the ones that like to pin his wrists down and smother him and then still can't come and end up sobbing against his chest, begging him for forgiveness. The ones that mean an extra $50 in his pocket, and sometimes a meal and a bed for the night, too.

There's no answer, but something flutters past his shoulder. Casey's dropped his book, and his hands are clenched around the wooden frame of his chair; his head has fallen forward, chin pressed into his chest, and his eyes are closed behind the thick, ludicrous glasses.

Dan smiles faintly. _That was easy!_ he thinks. He takes his hand away for a moment, swipes his tongue across the palm, then closes it around Casey's cock, pumps it once, twice, drawing out the motion, taking it nice and slow. Casey's hips lift from the chair, following the movement of Dan's hand, and Dan lifts the other, presses it, flat, against Casey's chest and pushes him down, then lets that hand slide, sideways at first, the nail flicking against Casey's nipple, then downward, circling his navel, while his other hand squeezes gently, opens, releases, closes and squeezes again.

Casey's hard now, fully hard, and Dan dips his head, wraps his hands firmly around Casey's hips, relaxes his jaw, and draws in as much of the length as he can take at the first try, curls up his tongue against the underside, pulls his head back, and releases. Casey gasps; one hand leaves the safety of the chair, and tangles at the nape of Dan's neck, trying to force his head back down. Dan pushes back against it, closing his mouth, shuffling forward on his knees and laying his head against Casey's belly, rubbing his cheek into Casey's body hair.

"Don't!" Casey whispers, and his voice is hoarse now, strangled. "Don't – stop …"

Dan smiles against the other man's skin. "Say the magic word," he whispers, and laughs as he feels an indignant tug at his hair.

"Don't stop, or I'll kill you?" Casey mutters, grimly.

Dan raises his head and looks into his face, eyes bright and wicked. "Good enough!" he says, and he takes up where he'd left off, lips and tongue and hands sucking, licking, pressing and stroking, while Casey bucks helplessly up beneath him, breathing ragged, his hands on Dan's shoulders now, holding him tightly, desperately, almost, oh, god, no, he's imagining this, but almost, almost tenderly …

And then Natalie's voice says sharply, "Casey? Are you ready?" and Dan remembers where he is, and what's he's being paid for. He pulls away, confused and embarrassed, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, while Casey shoves himself, with some difficulty, out of the chair, pushes the robe off his shoulder, and hurries on set.

But he turns back, just as he hits his mark, and hisses to Dan, "Don't go _anywhere!_"

Which is unfair. Because that means hope. And Dan and hope, these days, are eternal strangers.

Natalie's hand is on his shoulder, then under his armpit as she helps him to his feet. She's beaming up at him, as proud as if she'd taught him all he knows.

"That was a really _great_ job," she tells him. "I've never seen Casey … I mean, he's good at faking it, but he looked like he was really into you." She tilts her head to one side and looks at him, considering. "Mojo," she decides. "That's what you've got. I'm going to talk to Isaac. See if I can't get him to put you on the payroll. Sound good?"

Good? It sounds like a _miracle!_ Dan just nods, dumbly. And then his stomach growls again, and Natalie laughs.

"Okay, okay! First, we eat. And then …"

"Then?" Dan asks, curious, as he follows her back to the food table. She glances back at him over her shoulder.

"And then," she tells him, "then we see what happens."

***


End file.
